He Was Once a King, I Shall Meet Him in the Future
by We Don't Speak of Page 250
Summary: The prophecies call him the Once and Future King. Yet, "once" and "future" are subjective words. Merlin will stay at the side of his king for the rest of eternity. Yet, all old men get tired eventually.


**He Was Once a King, I Shall Meet Him in the Future**

 **Summary: The prophecies all call him the Once and Future King. But, "once" and "future" are such subjective words. If this is the case, our king shall never leave us.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in the tv series of Merlin or Sherlock.**

 _Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Merlin...Arthur is not just a King-he is the Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock-the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men._

Kilgarrah's words rang through his ears as he stood on shore, the body of his best friend laying in a boat near his feet. With a flash of gold, the boat began a slow drift towards the dense fog that covered the lake. As the boat and Arthur disappeared beyond sight, Merlin fell to his knees and sobbed.

1215

It was a beautiful day in England, one of those rare times that not a single cloud was in sight. It was almost as if the country itself was smiling for the blonde man that radiated with joy as he ran out of the king's castle.

The man ran for miles before he had to stop, his laughter ringing as he collapsed beneath a tree. Moments later his dark haired companion joined him, although in a much more sober manner.

The blonde turned to his friend, with a jubilant grin on his face. "Cheer up, my friend! Today, we made history! With the signing of the Magna Carta, our people will finally experience a life with assurity." The dark haired companion could not resist the slight smile that quickly flitted across his features. He responded, "In that, you are correct. I believe as well that, with your aid, the people of this land have accomplished something great today. I was just reflecting upon your skills as a leader, possibly even worthy of a king." The blonde man let out a slight chuckle at the thought but wasn't sure how to respond and the two fell silent for a moment.

He was about to inquire upon the events that were to conclude the day, but was too quickly taken over by a searing pain in his abdomen. He doubled over, feeling as though a hundred knives were stabbing him repeatedly. Suddenly, he heard a dark chuckle from his friend. The blonde man glanced in his direction to see a look of grief and bitterness written clearly upon his face. "That pain you are experiencing," he spoke, "is the poison King John slipped into your drink during the signing. I tried my hardest to stop him, but I was too late this time. I suppose it really is true that lightning never strikes the same place twice. The confusing words were the last thing the blonde heard before the poison finished ravishing his systems and he went completely still.

Merlin glared at the still happy sky before he, yet again, cried over the loss of his best friend.

1349

This time, it was the plague that took the life of a kind-hearted blonde haired man. Not many were present at the funeral. The bubonic plague had scoured the land, destroying the lives of so many people. He was a doctor too. He went door to door, helping however he could, always in vain. They all saw him, they knew it wouldn't be too long before he, too, was claimed by this black illness. They all had their own problems to battle, they told themselves. It didn't matter that he done good in this world, that was his own choice.

They had their own problems to battle, they told themselves, as they passed the dark haired man crying unlike any of the others at the grave of the young man who tried too hard to save them.

1942

This time, Merlin had no body he could mourn over. It was gone, taken, sent away with all of the others. This time, not a single person blinked an eye at the sight of a man, crying alone on an empty bunk, clutching a pair of identification tags and a piece of paper reading _Killed in action._

2015

"How are you just fine with this?" Donovan yelled at one Sherlock Holmes, clearly undone by the recent turn of events. All around, the members of Scotland Yard and John Watson seemed to be interested in the answer, each experiencing their own bit of trauma from the case. Sherlock looked up from the leftover pieces of evidence he was examining, and leveled her with a glare. "Because," he said with a sneer, "there is no part of me left that can still grieve."

2016

This time, the dark haired man stood over the grave of his friend, his king, that had fallen to Moriarty. This time, he walked away with a simple statement, "I'll meet you at the next adventure," leaving the others to say their goodbyes. This time, the dark haired man didn't shed a single tear.


End file.
